


There and Back Again

by horchatita394



Category: Glee
Genre: Falling In Love, M/M, POV First Person, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horchatita394/pseuds/horchatita394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arizona Green Tea, way too many fields, a little bit of Star Trek, a lot of The Book of Mormon and two bad guys on a journey for no real reason at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There and Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Smythofsky Holidays Day 1. My never ending gratitude to Gabe my muse and beta and special thanks to Clou for her beautiful graphics for the fanmix that I totally slaved over. Links to the beautiful people at the end notes. Link to the fanmix right here: http://www.mediafire.com/?7e57sgm3fq93i

 

Do you ever picture Bellatrix falling asleep? Or Darth Vader doing Empire paperwork? Or The Master tying his shoes? Yeah I’m a closet nerd it’s not even relevant to keep it a secret anymore since it wasn’t the only closet I was in, but that’s not the point. The point is when someone is a _Bad Guy_ , there’s a tendency to forget they do things other than fuck up everyone’s shit. And when it’s real life, bad guys (not murderers or rapists or monsters like that, I mean bad guys) like bullies and jerks and your boss, it’s hard to picture them just doing _stuff_. Feeding their dog and waking up and falling in love. I know that Sebastian is a bad guy and I know that I am a bad guy, and I guess the rule about forgetting applies within the bad guy community because it sort of throws me off seeing him put gas in his car.

I look at him from two pumps away and he nods at me. I remember what Kurt told me, how it was Sebastian’s idea that they raise money for charity and how it seemed like he felt bad about being a douche, but it was hard to tell. Maybe it’s true what they say about bad guys, that they don’t get their stories heard. I wonder if he bangs his shins against furniture in the morning and whether he dog ears or bookmarks his pages. I nod back at him and get into my car. I wonder what he and I will do now; all this free time on our hands, not fucking up everyone’s shit.

I don’t see him again for another month, just before graduation. Same gas station, this time inside the grimy little mart thing, I see that his haul includes three bags of SunChips and one of those oversized Arizona teas.

He nods, “Hey.”

Shit, I wasn’t planning on actually talking to him but there are people ahead of us in the cramped line, “Hi. Didn’t see your car.” Way to not be creepy Dave, seriously.

He rolls his eyes up and shrugs, “It’s being a whiny bitch; it’s at the mechanic.”

I make some vaguely accepting head bounce before I turn sharply, “How did you get here?”

He snorts, “I walked.”

“You walked?”

He’s been sort of subdued but there’s a bit of the I-let-guys-blow-me-in-the-bar-restrooms attitude about him when he snarks back, “It’s a thing people do.”

The woman ahead of me in line grabs her things and shuffles out of the hole of a shop so I lay my Redbull on the counter and do something stupid, “Do you want a ride back?”

He looks at the stuff in his hands, maybe picturing a walk back to wherever he came from with a plastic bag full of this junk, “Sure.”

He doesn’t make derisive comments about my truck the way I expect him to, getting comfortable and looking at home in the passenger seat the millisecond he gets in. Maybe he knew, maybe I should have known, like the things that God whispers in your ear when you feel like listening. But probably we couldn’t have imagined the bulk of dead cells, rage, and tears we’d shed in my seats.

He’s looking out the window and the radio is at its lowest and it’s all really awkward already and, “It’s like twenty minutes down the road, only left there is.”

“You don’t live in town?”

He yawns and runs a hand through his hair. No gunk in it, I hadn’t noticed, “It’s gated.”

I notice now. He looks tired. He lives in a country club and walked a mile and a half to a gas station, “Did you want to go somewhere else?”

He turns to look at me, leans his elbow on the door and his head on his fist like he’s thinking about it, “Listen I didn’t mean any of the crap I said, about…how you look or anything like that. I was being an ass, because it’s what I do. Did. Whatever, being good is exhausting. But as much as virgins can be fun I’m kind of surprisingly not in the mood.”

I could have easily driven us into a tree but I blush and splutter instead, “Dude no, I meant…I mean it’s Sunday. Being home sounds boring. That’s all. I just meant… never mind.”

I’m looking at the road as aggressively as I once did Kurt’s blue sequined blazer but I can feel his eyes on me, “I am dangerously bored, yeah. But what else is there to do?”

I don’t answer him for about two minutes, two minutes closer to gated community boredom, “Sometimes I just drive out until something catches my eye or I start running out of gas. It’s not a load of fun but, it’s better than being at home.”

Judgment burns, did you know that? Like a sunburned mosquito bite on the side of your neck, “Forget it.”

He reaches into the plastic bag at his feet and I hear him pop the can of tea open. I glance over and watch the way he chugs some of it down, head thrown back like it’ll taste better if he drinks it all at once. He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb and I’ve seen that in porn, “Can you get me out of cell phone range?”

I look at the clock on the dashboard. 1:24 PM. I can get us to Bellefontaine and back before dad starts calling about dinner, “Yeah.”

He sniffs and looks ahead at the gilded sign that reads _Cyprus Peak Estates_. He shifts in the seat and turns the radio up, “I’m going to need more tea.”

*

We went north the next week and south the one after and then I bought a map. Sebastian covers gas because he can and I don’t argue, but I bought the map and he picks the rusted penny at the bottom of my cup holder and tosses it to see where we’ll go. It is summer and dad’s glad I made a friend (I’m not sure we’re friends, only that the road is the right kind of quiet and home is not) but he worries about car trouble and getting lost. I tell him we have a map.

I kneel to look at the map on the driveway and squint at the spot marked by the penny, “Reynoldsburg.”

He hums, “Birthplace of the tomato.”

I can judge too, I do so over my shoulder at him, “Why do you know that?”

Sebastian wrenches his door open like its, well, _his_ , “I don’t think you grasp the concept of dangerously bored.”

My truck is big for a car but small for a truck, I notice this when Sebastian starts getting creative with his travel arrangements. For the most part he’ll stay in the passenger seat, though the position he takes in it sort of varies with his mood. Today he sat cross legged on it for forty minutes before he migrated to the back where he is now.

“We should go further.”

I hold back the “that’s what she said” jokes, partly because _she_ wouldn’t interest either of us and partly because he doesn’t often just start the conversation, “Like Cleveland?”

“Further.”

I look at the road and the crumpled map on the vacated seat. It’s been much of the same for the past two weeks, “My dad might not like it.”

“You’re going to college David,” Sebastian snaps, “he better not like anything you do while you’re there or I’ll be grossly disappointed to be associated with you.”

“Next week,” I tell him after a few minutes, “we’ll go further next week.”

He sniffs and I hear the crinkle of a SunChips bag, “Turn the music up.”

I roll my eyes and turn it almost to the max. I don’t have the best stereo system as Sebastian has constantly reminded me, but it does fine with the windows rolled up.

Not two songs later he climbs back to the front seat, “Could you sit still for ten minutes?”

“Let’s stop somewhere.”

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s plastered himself against the window, “What about the tomatoes?”

“Fuck the tomatoes Dave,” he mutters with his nose against the window.

I stop beside the field of barley we’ve been cruising next to for the past couple of minutes and I’m not sure what to do next. Usually we’ll reach our destination, have lunch, and get back in the car. Sebastian rolls down the window and climbs half out before ducking back in and opening the door. I follow him out of the car and lean against it as he stares at the field with his hands in his pockets.

I watch him watch the barely.  Okay, maybe I stare at his ass. I mean it’s right there. He throws his arm up and vaguely motions at the field, “Fucking Ohio.”

It’s uncomfortable, realizing that the whole _Good Guy_ thing might be opening a can of worms for Sebastian. It’s not the first time I wonder if maybe it’s not worth the trouble. We don’t have to hurt anyone, but why change? Can we be passive jerks?

I shuffle my feet a bit, “Are you…I mean are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

He crouches down in front of me, still glaring at the field, “How long’s it been since you’ve seen your mother?”

That catches me by surprise, “Two months. She’d just left, that time I saw you at the gas station? They were fighting and when I got back she was gone.”

Sebastian doesn’t say anything but he stands back up after a while, “You used to be an asshole, right Dave?”

I nod at him.

I wonder if he’s about to cry but he looks more angry than sad, “It was easier wasn’t it? Not thinking about shit?”

I nod again.

“Think it’s worth it? This good guy stuff?”

I scratch the back of my neck and try not to look as stupid as I feel, “I really don’t know but, I never want to hurt anyone the way I hurt Kurt or…do what people did to me. So I don’t really have a choice.”

Sebastian blinks a few times and then scrunches his eyes together, “I never want to do what I did to you either.”

He sniffs and huffs out a laugh. I think maybe he’s lost it but then I’m in the middle of nowhere with the closest thing to a friend I have and we’re both trying to figure the same thing out and I kind of wish I could be as wild as he is, not for the first time. I wish I could just scream the way he’s screaming now like the barley has personally offended him, “I HATE THIS PLACE! I HATE MY FUCKING FATHER AND I HATE THAT MY MOTHER DOESN’T GIVE A SHIT.”

He scrubs a hand over his face and leans back against the car.

“I hate it too,” I tell him, because it’s true.

“You’ve never been anywhere else,” he says. It sounds like an honest laugh this time.

I shrug, my hands deep in my pockets, “So? I still know there are better places.”

He licks his lips; eyes still closed and head back against the car door, “Next week we’ll go further. Further than tomatoes and barley.”

I nod even though he can’t see me, “Somewhere we don’t hate.”

*

We don’t go anywhere the next week because Sebastian’s father has a dinner and as much as Bas “rebels” he doesn’t really. Ever. At all.

We don’t go the week after because Gran comes to visit and it’s awkward and oddly paced as she asks in not so hushed tones about what went so wrong that it caused my mom to leave and I watch my dad lie about his marital happiness to protect me from losing more family to who I am.

We haven’t spoken in these weeks during these obnoxious family meals, the most we’ve had as far as communication was that one skit about chorus boys that I put on his Wall and that totally inappropriate Smokey the Bear he put on mine.

It’s Saturday night or maybe Sunday morning, its way too dark to tell. It’s been two years since I knew something was weird about me, one since I started taking it out on people who were proud to be like me, three months since other people caught on and I almost killed myself and two since my mom has spoken to me. Two since I gained this weird appendage that sometimes gets me and mostly mocks me and is really fueling about 80% of the activity in my bed since I really don’t sleep as much as I should. My phone buzzes on my night stand and I grab for it, groggier than I thought I was, “’llo?”

“You know being a good guy makes you really unstable?”

I try to rub the sleep out of my eyes, “Speak for yourself.”

Sebastian sounds coolly annoyed, “I’m going to let you sleep I’m just letting you know I’m packing up. Since you’re so fucking tired; I’ll buy the food and you’ll like it. We’re leaving at seven.”

I blink around at the darkness, “We’re leaving what at seven?”

“The land of tomato and barley, Karofsky. Pack up your stuff,” he says with much too much perk for this time of night, or morning, “tell your lovely father you’ll be back in two weeks and check the air on your tires.”

I groan and throw myself back onto my pillow, “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“I’ll buy a new one in California,” he says half distracted by whatever it is he’s doing.

I glare at nothing in particular but set my alarm regardless, “I’m hanging up now.”

Somewhere in a gated community Sebastian hums as he plans, “I’ll see you at seven.”

*

“Mr. Karofsky,” I hear Sebastian’s way too cheery parent voice down the hall, “good morning sir.”

“Now wait a minute Sebastian,” Dad says with a sigh, “what is all this Dave is talking about.”

“It’s his last summer before college,” God how does Sebastian sound so reasonable when he’s actually batshit insane? “He should get out, do something. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes that sounds great,” Dad agrees, “but California? By car? On a whim?”

“He has a good car and I have good money,” shit Sebastian is about to lose his patience and then we won’t be going anywhere, “We’ll be fine.”

“Money can’t keep you safe,” Dad insists.

“Sure it can.”

“Sebastian.”

“Sir.”

It’s an actual stand off until I walk into the room, “Bas.”

He’s wearing an actual t-shirt and not too tight jeans, this may be the first time I’ve seen him look anything close to comfortable, “Dave! Ready to go?”

Dad literally bangs his head against the partition to the kitchen, “David, do you have some money of your own?”

I pull out my wallet and smile, “Yeah dad.”

Dad looks like what inevitable feels like, “You’ll call me every night and if you get into any trouble.”

“I’ll call,” I tell him, “I promise.”

“Be careful, alright?”

“Yes dad.”

He eyes Sebastian as he searches our kitchen for what he considers to be drinkable coffee as dad pulls me into the living room, “I know this is all hurried but…do we need to have a talk?”

I blink at him, “What?”

“Sebastian is a handsome boy,” he starts.

“Dad!”

“And you’re smart,” he continues, because everything with cosmic power hates me, “I know you are.”

I would probably cut off a toe for him to stop saying this with Sebastian ten feet away, “Dad for the love of all that is holy, stop talking.”

He leans in even closer, “I put some condoms in your bag.”

“OH MY GOD DAD I’M LEAVING NOW. THIS NEVER HAPPENED. BYE.” I grab my keys from the coffee table before my head explodes.

Dad pulls me into a hug, tells me to be safe and then does the same to Sebastian. That leaves Bas a little off balance until I shove him out the door.

Sebastian went shopping at 4:30AM and the results are concerning. There are about two crates full of Arizona green tea, ten bags of chips, two nets of various fruits, a pallet of bottled water, three different sizes of batteries, an actual first aid kit and for some goddamn reason, canned tuna.

I laugh, what else is there to do, “Sebastian, you went hurricane shopping.”

He bobs his head, “Whatever, come on, the road beckons.”

“I’m pretty sure this is a condition,” I tell him as we load the things into my car.

The idiot is counting his tea cans, “A condition?”

“Like an addiction,” I explain, “To the road. To being driven around.”

He rolls his eyes, “You’re not driving all the way.”

“Not the point.”

He plugs all sorts of contraptions in, from a phone charger to a GPS and an iPod, “I made a playlist, because I’m sick of the radio.”

“You made a playlist for two weeks.”

He glares, “I had a long night. And it’s called wanderlust; the condition not the playlist. I didn’t name the playlist.”

I drive and Sebastian sings. I drive and Sebastian drinks half his water weight in Arizona Green Tea. I drive and Sebastian makes me stop so he can pee.

“I can drive for a while,” he says after we get surprisingly good coffee from a vending machine at a stop just inside Indiana. I realize that even though we’ve been taking little road trips around Ohio for weeks I’ve never actually seen Sebastian drive.

I take a sip, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he finishes his coffee and eyes the candy machine.

“We have to stop in Chicago,” I say, because whatever Sebastian’s mysterious motivations, I’m going to take advantage of the trip and see some stuff.

“Sure,” Sebastian shrugs. I realize that maybe he doesn’t know what his mysterious motivations are either.

We go to the Bean, where from some angles I am skinny and Sebastian is fat. We lay on the floor below it with our feet pressed on the ground and I realize, holy shit, I’m in Chicago. I’m on the road with what I’ll give in and call my friend and we’re laughing like idiots because this is so stupid, staring up at ourselves on a shiny metal kidney bean in the middle of this city I’d never dreamt of seeing.

There are no tickets fifteen minutes into a Cubs game, which Sebastian insists would be a blasphemy not to watch. _They’re Cubs you’re a cub, come on David_. There is this thing called the knothole apparently, it’s a hole in the stadium walls where you can honestly just stand and watch. It’s hard to keep up with the game because there’s a bit of a crowd at the opening, but after a while we just cheer and groan with the rest, take beer from a soccer mom and smile at each other on an oddly awkward level. Sebastian’s smiles are weird the way thunderclouds are weird, you can’t really figure out how they form and they’re a little bit menacing but ultimately beautiful.

I call dad and tell him about the game, assure him we’re both fine and having fun. I watch Sebastian sneer at the obviously not four-star hotel room and then throw himself on his bed. He looks at the pictures on his phone and I want to ask him to send them to me, but for some reason I can’t make myself speak. He leans over to show me the phone and I take it. It’s a picture of our reflections on the Bean. He took it with his phone lying on his stomach so you can see our faces unobstructed. I look happy. I think of the picture of a helmet I have as my profile picture and then hand the phone back to him, “We should head out early tomorrow.”

Sebastian hums and jumps out of bed and heads to the bathroom. I realize that this might get awkward really fast if I don’t distract myself, so I turn on the TV. I don’t stare when he comes out wearing boxers with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, but I let myself take a look when he walks back in to wash his mouth out. Damn.

I don’t usually wear a shirt to bed but there’s only so much judgment I can take right now so I pull the over-washed Buckeyes shirt on after my pajama pants and get into bed without looking at him.

“Hey Dave.”

I turn over on my side so that I can see him past the lamp on the bedside table between us, “Hmm?”

 We stare at each other and I want to say something. Anything so that what we’re doing is fine. I want to declare that we’re bros and that this is something bros do, grab the road and just go. But we’re not, really. We’re friends because what else are two bad guys trying to be good guys going to do except orbit around each other? Maybe that’s what I should say. That by the time we reach California we’ll be good guys, like tadpoles turning into toads.

“Never mind,” he says, and leans over to turn off the lamp, “goodnight, Dave.”

*

I doze off in the car even though we didn’t get to bed that late. When I wake up we’ve stopped somewhere and Sebastian is looking pleased with himself.

“Why are we stopping,” I look at the clock on the dashboard, “we only started out four hours ago, Bas, we’re not switching.”

“Stop being such a Snorlax, would you? Get out of the car.”

He gets out before I have a chance to ask and hey, at least I get to stretch. But before I look around Sebastian practically jumps my back like one of those pretend-monkeys and covers my eyes, “Sebastian what the hell!”

“Walk straight five steps and then turn left.”

“I’m not a freaking horse Sebastian!”

“Walk!”

I grab his legs which are sort of precariously on my hips and I try not to think about that as I walk five steps forward and one left. He jumps off my back but keeps holding his hands over my eyes, “You’re really bad at hiding your true nerd spirit you know that?”

He’s probably talking about my overloaded keychain and all the geeky crap on it, “Sebastian what are you doing?”

He lets go of my face and shoves my shoulder at the slab of stone in front of me.

[ ](http://i935.photobucket.com/albums/ad192/Witneyman/RiversideIowa.jpg)

I throw my head back and laugh. I can feel Sebastian hovering behind me and I almost lean back against him but I    don’t, “Oh my God.”

Sebastian smiles like a thundercloud again and raises his phone, “Go. Pose.”

I do, like an idiot. I Live Long and Prosper at his iPhone and then I make him do it because he catches way too many of my references to not be at least a partial fan of Star Trek and I wonder if when we get back home we can marathon some Next Generation and then I wonder what percentage of my life is Sebastian and what the hell was there before him.

*

[(x)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrwvignOPmk)

Sebastian is way too proud of himself when we roll past the Welcome to Nebraska sign. He’s singing at the top of his lungs and shoving at my arm until I join in and try not to be embarrassed.

_Something, something about just knowing when it's right_

_So put your drinks up for Nebraska_

_For Nebraska, Nebraska, I love you_

_You and I, you, you and I_

_Baby, I'd rather die without you and I_

_You and I, you, you and I_

_Nebraska I'd rather die without you and I_

He jumps in his seat and snaps the music off, “David you can sing.”

He says it like an accusation and obviously he’s surprised but I shrug, “Sorta.”

“Sorta?” His legs are tucked under him and he’s staring at me like I’m telling him the world is as flat as our crumpled Ohio map, “Dave you can _sing_.”

I shake my head and smile a little at the way he looks at me now, singing along to the next item on his playlist. I don’t like performing, hated everyone staring at me that one time on the football field. I’d felt exposed without my helmet, like everyone could see past what I’d been trying to put out. But I loved the singing and I love it now too, alone in my truck with Sebastian and a darkened road in Nebraska of all places. I don’t like performing but I like the way Sebastian looks when he watches me sing.

*

Wyoming has way too many fields for Sebastian’s taste and he says so as we drive through. We’ve been sleeping in the car because we waste less time even though we’re not really in any hurry, but I worry about staying in the car here in the middle of a set up for Children of the Corn. The windows are down and the driving breeze is nice. I ask Sebastian about where we should stop for the night. He looks off, probably upset by the scenery so I duck my head out the window and roll to a stop. He looks at me but doesn’t ask anything and I grab a throw blanket from one of the bags, “Come on.”

I open the bed of the truck and set the blanket down. I don’t look at him in case he starts to insinuate anything, just lie on my back and look up at the innumerable stars. I feel him shuffling in beside me so I look, because allowing myself to look is a step, I think, in the right direction. He’s looking up and he looks really young, the way my little cousins look when they find out something new. He laughs softly up at the stars and I try really hard not to fall in love with him but I think of what I felt for Kurt and that was something and I think about what I know Santana feels about Brittany and that was something different and a little bit more. I think about what I feel about Sebastian and I try really very hard not to be pathetic and call it love so I don’t call it anything at all.

*

In Utah we listen to the Book of Mormon Soundtrack because Sebastian has a simple but persistent sense of irony. He plays it until he’s sure I know every word and then I sing it back to him and he smiles the stormy smile and I wonder what my smile looks like to him and if Sebastian thinks about shit like this at all. We’re running out of gas so I roll the windows down and just to continue on the theme of irony, I pray. I pray and Sebastian bounces his leg and glares at the gas needle.

“You can stop because staring at it isn’t going to make gas magically appear; why did you let your phone die?”

“I let my phone die, David, yes. I gave it permission,” God he talks with his hands, “I gave it my blessing to walk towards the light. What about your phone?”

I shrug, “I only had enough left to call my dad.”

“And call him you did,” he snaps, “and now he thinks we’re alright and the car is going to stop in the middle of this corn maze and the creepy redheaded children are going to kill us and I will haunt your stupid ass forever.”

 “DON’T CALL ME STUPID.”

“WHY BECAUSE YOU’RE SENSITIVE?”

“BECAUSE I’M NOT FUCKING STUPID.”

“THEN YOU CAN DEAL WITH ME CALLING YOU NAMES WHEN I’M PISSED THAT YOU’RE GETTING US KILLED.”

I hit the brakes so hard Sebastian almost slams against the dashboard and I kill the engine before he can get a word in. I get out and just walk, for some reason I walk in the direction opposite where we were headed. It’s not that I wanted to hit him; I just didn’t want to know if I could feel the need to. I know that I am a bad guy and I know Sebastian is a bad guy, but I also know that the reason we’re driving west until we can’t anymore is sort of like a quest. Maybe the Wizard will give us hearts or a conscience or whatever it is we’re missing. And I don’t want to screw up a quest or a spiritual journey or whatever the hell this is by falling in love with a guy and then beating him up because he’s a douche bag and I really hate him sometimes. It seems counterproductive, so I walk. I get a few paces away before Sebastian turns on the lights on the car and I can see him when I look over my shoulder. He’s kneeling, looking out at me from the back window. I can see he’s terrified even from where I’m standing.

He's like a whimpering puppy. Have you ever tried to walk away from a whimpering puppy? One does not simply walk away from a sad puppy. I let out a sigh so heavy that he can absolutely see it from where he's staring at me, his fingers clutching the head rest on the seat. I get back in the car and I don't say anything and he looks as embarrassed as I've ever seen him. His voice is really quiet and a little desperate though, "I won't say anything for the next twenty minutes just." He makes a staying motion with his hands. He needs me to stay. Want is an interesting verb, it can be a noun. So can need. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes. Sebastian wants me as a partner in this crazy as fuck road trip, but he needs me to sit beside him and not leave him alone in a dark cornfield. The difference seems important.

“I don’t like being alone in fields, especially in the dark,” he says as if I accused him of murder.

“I got that, yeah.”

“I have a Batman thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Like with the bats?”

“You mean you have a trauma induced phobia?”

“Stop showing off, I know you’re a fucking genius David.”

I pull him into a hug and he doesn't resist but he doesn't hug back either. I smile and damn how does his hair smell so good, haven't we both been using cheap ass motel body wash for every part of our bodies?

“You know it really wasn't that scary of a movie.”

“It's not the movie. But yes it was scary shut up.”

“What happened?”

He doesn't say anything for a while; he just slithers away from me and leans his head back against the seat. He pulls his knees up and I try not to look creepy while I stare.

He speaks with his eyes closed, “Mom always took me to her parties and brunches and nights out. For the first hour I was like her prized Pomeranian and people would say how cute I was. Then she'd forget I was there.” He sighs but he doesn't open his eyes, “So I guess one of those parties was in a vineyard or so I figured when I grew up. Whatever. It makes sense because she was drunk. They all were. I could hear the party but I couldn't get back to it and no one was looking for me. I guess, spending the whole night there, it sort of stuck. Fields make me uncomfortable.”

I think I should say something comforting, but we’re not all the way to good guys yet, “You’re scared of fields and you decided to take a road trip that’s been about seventy percent fields?”

His eyes snap open and he glares, “I was trying to face my fears you insensitive bastard.”

“Well you were fine; we’ve slept next to fields before. What’s wrong with you now?”

“You were leaving!”

“Sebastian where the hell was I going to go, we’re at least an hour from a town!”

He pulls his legs onto the seat and glares out the windshield at the dark empty road, “What do we do?”

I almost want to laugh at how quickly Sebastian’s moods just fly by, “We grab the canister thing and go get gas.”

He unfolds like origami, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“We could wait until morning.”

Did he just growl at me?

“FINE.”

He walks close up next to me. I wonder if I can get away with throwing my arm over his shoulders while we walk, just to let him know I’m there every time the rustle of the leaves makes him tense. I don’t. But sometimes our arms brush as we walk or he reaches over to take the empty canister from me for a while and he knows I’m here. We’re probably twenty minutes from seeing town because the road is dirt made and narrow, the high stalks of crop are looming and they even freak me out. He walks slower and faster at intervals and I wonder if he’s going to pass out.

“You have to distract yourself, Bas.”

He grits his teeth, “Don’t talk to me.”

“You’re going to hyperventilate and you’re going to pass out and I’m not going to carry you,” I tell him.

He’s still stubbornly quiet and looks on the verge of a major freak out so I grab him and stop him, “Look up at the stars.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“You’re freaking out and you need to be distracted,” I tell him, “so look at the stars while you walk.”

He throws his head back for moment and then brings it back down to glare at me, “We are going TO DIE.”

I groan and shake him a little bit, “Would you shut the fuck up and look at the goddamn stars, Sebastian?”

“No you moron,” he says as he points a finger upwards, “there are no stars.”

“Don't you use my Doctor Who induced fears to be a jerk.”

“THERE ARE NO STARS. IT'S CLOUDY YOU DUMBASS!”

“Crap.”

“What.”

I turn to him with the best impression of you're not as bright as you are beautiful, that I can manage. “Clouds make rain, Bas. We're forty minutes from the car.”

We try running back for about ten minutes but the slight drizzle turns into a kicked over bucket of warm summer rain and we just give up. We drag our feet down the road in our soaked clothes and laugh because what the hell else are we going to do? I throw my head back and utterly fail at drinking rain water like a bad ass.

“You look like a drowned cat,” I tell him.

“How many cats did you have to drown to make a statement like that with such confidence, Dave?”

Lighting strikes not far enough away and it’s bright as daylight. He really does look like a drowned cat with his too long hair plastered onto his head, but he also looks like every inappropriate dream I’ve had these past couple of days with his shirt sticking to his chest and his pants weighing down low on his hips.  He reaches for my hand and avoids my eyes. I take it, but we don’t hold hands like couples strolling down the park. It has purpose. It is dark and we have good reason to be scared and at least this way if we trip and fall we won’t go down alone. Yes, we are holding hands with purpose, like bros.

I laugh at myself and he doesn’t question why I’m laughing and joins in. Sebastian laughs like thunder; it makes my bones shake to their core. I love this boy who is a bad guy and is happy the way a storm is violent. I don’t love him the way I thought I loved Kurt, I don’t want to be him. There are so many things wrong with him. I don’t want to be him any more than I want to be me. He is a bad guy and I am a bad guy and maybe sometimes bad guys do normal people things, like fall in love. But I’m not going to kid myself that it might be mutual, I don’t think I’m the type of guy who people love back. But he’s sort of mine in the way that friends can be yours, in the inside jokes and the shared memories and the secrets they whisper as if they were by themselves. I’ve got parts of him. I’ve got _Sebastian snores when he sleeps on his back_ and I’ve got _Sebastian will make shit up when he forgets lyrics and he’s into a song_ and I’ve got _Sebastian was once a little boy who spent a night surrounded by the howling of spring winds through a vineyard_.

We spend what’s left of the gas on the heater. We’re stripped down to our boxers but it’s really all too cold and uncomfortable to get worked up and when Sebastian falls asleep he’s still smiling like he’s forgotten all about crazy redheaded children and his mom’s far away laugh and being alone in the dark. I watch the rise and fall of his body as he breathes calmly in sleep, take in the perfect stretches of his skin over slight muscles and his beautiful face. I reach over and shove his nearly dry hair away from his closed eyes before closing my own.

__

_“Stop being such a spoiled brat!”_

_“You’re the one who made up a schedule for no goddamn reason!”_

_“I’m trying to get back on the route get off me!”_

_“Let me drive!”_

_“You’re going to make me drive us off the road get the fuck back!”_

Did you know that Arizona teas aren’t made in Arizona? Sebastian feels personally lied to. Well, we weren’t planning on going to Arizona but we got here anyway. I play with the utensils as we wait for our lunches and I stare out at the road, “We should do something here, as long as we’re here.”

Sebastian isn’t talking to me because I got us lost. I don’t know how one gets lost on a pointless trip but maybe it isn’t pointless that I got us off track.

I sigh as the waitress puts our food down on the table. She gives us a weird look, and what, can’t two friends be on the road together anymore? Is the complete lack of boobs in our party that suspicious? Sebastian notices and grabs my hand before I can stop him. He glares right up at her, “We’ll have our lunch without an audience today thank you, aren’t you a sweetheart.”

She walks away muttering about damnation under her breath and I don’t realize that I’m shaking until Sebastian squeezes my hand to the point of pain, “Relax.”

I don’t answer him, I look down at my food and pick at it and only eat about half before I set some money down and tell him I’ll wait in the car. I hear the clatter of his plate and his quiet cursing and the scrape of his chair as he gets up but I leave the diner before he can say anything. I sit in the car and I watch as he lays it on the waitress. It doesn’t look like he’s shouting; it looks much more frightening than that. Her face remains disgusted but it’s muffled under nerves and fear. I don’t wonder what he’s saying; I only realize that the world might not want us to be good guys after all. Maybe we won’t make it if we try.

He opens the door and I jump over to the passenger seat without being told. He grabs the keys from my hand where I’m still clutching them and gets us away from the diner. He drives and I know that he’s fuming but I don’t know if it’s because the waitress pissed him off or if it’s because I’m such a  wimp. He drives until we’re back on the desolate road and I glance over to make sure we have enough gas when he cuts the engine off.

“Dave,” he sighs, “don’t cry.”

I blink at him, “I’m not crying.”

He looks over my face like he doesn’t believe me, “You’re crying inside.”

“You’re an idiot.”

 He looks scared and I realize that people that don’t assume they know everything about me because I like guys assume they know everything about me because I tried to kill myself. It kind of pisses me off that Sebastian would be one of those people but then I remember how guilty he feels about the whole thing.

“If you want to know, I’m more upset that I didn’t finish that cheeseburger than I am that she was a bitch.”

“It doesn’t get easier,” he says, looking kind of insanely earnest, “they’re lying.”

“That’s really not something you’re supposed to…”

He interrupts me by shifting closer like he needs every millimeter of my attention, “People don’t stop being douche bags, but you stop taking it. You stop running out of places and looking down when people glare at you.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“Homophobes were never my problem,” he shrugs, “I’m well trained in not giving a shit.”

I smile despite the fact that it’s wildly inappropriate, “And that’s your problem.”

He smirks at me, like good job young padawan you’re learning, “You could say that.”

He starts the car again and turns the radio on, searches in vain until he finally comes up with a half decent radio station. He sings, but not as loud and wild as he usually does, he mostly hums and whisper-sings under his breath. I nod off and when I wake up again there is an honest to God forest around us. I turn and squint at Sebastian but he shushes me as if he wants me to go back to sleep, “Where are we?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the dirt road, “You said to do something while we’re here.”

Just as he says so we pass a big wooden sign: ENTERING GRAND CANYON NATIONAL PARK.

I smile at him and he grins even though he won’t look over. Hiking is a bitch without proper gear but we get to one of those breathtaking spots and he resists the urge to see it all through his phone. There’ll be time for pictures later.

He turns to me and he’s smiling like an actual maniac, “I feel like we should scream something?”

“What?”

“Yeah you know,” he makes some weird grand motion with his hands at the amazing sight, “shout something into the void. Isn’t God supposed to hear you in places like this?”

I lick my lips and feel nervous all of a sudden. What do you say when you have a megaphone to God’s ear?

“I believe,” Sebastian whisper sings next to me, “that God has a plan for all of us.”

Oh, Jesus.

“I believe,” he sings louder, “that plan involves me getting my own planet.”

He turns to me and I shake my head so he sings louder still, “I belieeeeeeeeeeeeeeve that Satan has a hold of you! AND I BELIEVE THAT GOD HAS SENT ME HERE!”

Oh damn it all maybe we’re going to burn in hell no matter what we do, so I give in, “AND I BELIEVE THAT IN 1978 GOD CHANGED HIS MIND ABOUT BLACK PEOPLE!”

“I BELIVE THAT GOD LIVES ON A PLANET CALLED KOLOB.”

“I BELIEVE THAT JESUS HAS HIS OWN PLANET AS WELL!”

“AND I BELIEVEEEEE THAT THE GARDEN OF EDEN WAS IN JACKSON COUNTY, MISSOURI!”

We fall to the orangey dirt in hysterical laughter. He rolls, cackling, onto my chest and his whole body shakes against mine because we can't breathe from laughing. His floppy hair is flapping in the wind and his lips are cracked and bleeding in the heat and maybe this is what we want God to hear, two bad guys who just want to be good enough to be loved laughing at the void in front of them. We can’t breathe from laughing and then we can't breathe because I kiss him. He grabs on to my shirt without missing a beat and he's kissing me, of course, like it was all his idea.

*

Sebastian’s absolutely out for the count, he’s asleep now after an hour straight of road-head comments and that fifteen minute stretch where we were both tempted enough until we hit actual traffic. Somehow losing the solitude of the open road has us both exhausted and he’s doing that soft little snore thing and I feel nervous and a little heartbroken now that we’re  so close to San Francisco. I don’t know if we’ll feel any different when we get out of the car. I worry that we will, I worry that we won’t, I worry that whatever gentle feelings two bad guys have been able to evolve over a few weeks and a pointless trip will unravel on the way home. I wonder about what home is who it’s with and I think about the future. I think about the future Kurt asked me to imagine and the blank face of my hypothetical partner and how I can’t remember the little boy’s eyes. I think about the fancy office and the picket fence life and then I think about Sebastian. I think about his tempest of a smile and Our Crumpled Ohio Map and I drive. I’ll wake him up when we get closer but now I stop for gas and I fold Our Crumpled Ohio Map into his backpack.

 I hope he doesn't throw it out. I hope it lingers with his belongings when he goes off to college and gets his own (probably penthouse and professionally decorated) apartment and I hope when it pops up unexpectedly he smiles. I hope that even if after I go to Columbus, if we never see each other again, he'll always have the Crumpled Ohio Map. That someday it ends up in his attic, that his kids find it when they play hide and seek, that his husband smiles down at it knowing the story about the map. I hope he doesn't forget the longest car ride of our lives so far, even if he forgets me, I hope I'll at least be a ghost in the back of his head.

I wake him up when the bridge is in sight and I can’t help but laugh quietly at how excited he looks. I feel it too, that it wasn’t in vain, that being here means something, but I can’t figure out what. Maybe that’s not part of it. We roll down the windows and he practically hangs out of the car like a golden retriever. It’s nearly sunset and there’s a hill and he’s tired and happy and I’m tired and happy. We lean against each other and I pretend we chased this sunset specifically as it simmers down into the bay. We’ve gone as far as we can go.

I want to ask him if we’re good guys yet. I want to ask him if he loves me. I want to think of the future and find everything in flux except his thunderstorm happiness.

He weaves his fingers with mine and I pull his hand to me and I kiss it and he watches me watch him. I realize that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you think of a bad guy falling asleep or doing paper work or tying their shoes. It doesn’t matter if you think of them falling in love or taking a left turn or laughing in the rain or singing in the car. It doesn’t matter if Sebastian is a bad guy or I am a bad guy, life still happens to us and we still live it. Maybe we don’t deserve to be happy or to be loved but it happens.

“Should we go home?”

He smiles at me like clouds in the horizon. Maybe he knows something I don’t; maybe I should know it too, like the things that God whispers in your ear when you feel like listening.

He kisses me. He tastes like Arizona Green Tea that isn’t made in Arizona and he tastes like miles of empty road and rainwater and home and a nod across a gas station and tragic childhood and sarcastic wit. I don’t know if Sebastian is a bad guy and I don’t know that I am a bad guy, but I know it’ll be another fifty thousand miles until we figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Gabe (muse and beta): flamesofatimelord.tumblr.com  
> Clao (fanmix cover artist): http://nowheregirlie.tumblr.com/  
> Me (author and crazy person): horchatita.tumblr.com


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